“Aye, that’s right,” Jaime said with a little clap.
“All right.” Giselle chewed her lip while the women gaped at her. She tried to see through them, to ignore their breathing and their barely bridled laughter. Even the men seemed to be watching, listening. Alec was pretending not to, but every so often, their eyes locked, and it made her belly flutter, and any rhymes she might have come up with evaporated. Besides, it was hard not to look at him. Out at the ruins, he’d been dressed in riding clothes and as sopping wet as she’d been. But now he was cleaned up, dressed in a fine kilt that showed off the shape and strength of his legs, which she’d remembered from their moonlit encounter years before.
“Och, she has nothing,” Lady Mary said, interrupting Giselle’s more amorous thoughts. “I’ll go.”
“Nay, I’ve got it,” Giselle replied. “I’ve been cooped up in a storm, having a fit of the bores. What heaven it is to escape to a merry party. A ride in the carriage, passing soggy flowers on the moors, arriving with mud, causing all the guests to laugh hearty. A game, some champagne, my new friends are the cures.”
Jaime clapped. “I do love playing Bouts-Rimes with ye.”
Giselle grinned, her confidence growing. “What about ye, Lady Mary? Have ye a rhyme?”
“Aye.” She locked eyes on Giselle as she spoke, a little sneer on her mouth. “Wallflowers and snooty gentleman—bores, we need something livelier to make this a party. I’d rather be in the city than cooped up on the moors, trying to find a husband who is hale and hearty. A hefty dowry and polite society are the cures.”
The other ladies clapped, and Giselle did too, trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed that the rhyme was meant to insult not only her, but everyone in the house. Goodness, but this was one of the women Alec’s mother had chosen as a potential bride? No wonder he’d ridden out to the abbey. The other ladies took their turns with the rhyming, but Giselle didn’t pay attention. She laughed and smiled when required, but truly she wished for a dram of whisky to take the edge off her throbbing ankle and a warm bed to forget about the day’s torturous events.
A footman came by then to save her from having to give another round of rhymes that Lady Mary would counter with an insult, as he offered them refreshment.
Was it truly possible that Lady Mary wanted Alec for herself? If that were the case, why wasn’t Lady Mary trying to talk to him? If Giselle could walk, she’d saunter up to him right now, if only to escape their presence. The truth was, not one of the eligible women present seemed the least bit interested in their host—the reason they’d been invited.
How awful it must be for Alec to have to endure their company, knowing they didn’t want to be in it.
* * *
Alec had yet to take his eyes off Giselle. He caught her looking at him too. Most of the time, he saw that swivel of her head or that peek through her lashes, and he pretended to be otherwise occupied. But then he’d look back, wishing her could scoop her up and leave this room. She was achingly beautiful, but beneath the pleasant surface lurked an acerbic bookworm he wanted to get to know.
His cravat felt too tight. The only reason he’d not run screaming from the parlor yet was that he liked his friends, and they were keeping him grounded. Well, and besides the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see Giselle if he left the room. Otherwise, he’d have dragged his friends back to his gymnasium for some real, rousing fun.
Alec heard the rhyming game from across the room. appreciating Giselle’s wit and wanting to send the chit who insulted her packing. Alas, that chit’s mother was present, and unfortunately, he didn’t want to deal with the fallout with his own mother. Besides, Giselle was handling her own fine, which made him respect her all the more.
Speaking of mothers, he’d yet to see his. And she’d yet to make a proper introduction to his new...friend. Was Giselle his friend? Why did the idea of being friends make his gut sour?
“What’s got into ye?” Euan asked, nudging him with his shoulder.
“Is that your sister?” Alec nodded toward one of the prettier lasses surrounding Jaime and Giselle. He hoped the change of topic would avert the attention away from himself.
“Aye. Maggie. She’s the only one who could come, a requirement when your mother sent her invitation.”
Alec frowned. “She required Maggie?” What kind of a requirement was that?
Euan shook his head. “Nay, she required any of my sisters, to be frank. I think she needed eligible females.”
“She required me to bring my duchess,” Lorne said. “And I assure ye, she’s no’ eligible.”
The men laughed while Alec still tried to piece together the puzzle his mother had laid out.
“And ye, Malcolm, what did she require of ye?”
Malcolm grinned arrogantly. “Only my presence.”
“I hope ye are no’ implying what I think ye intended to imply with that smirk,” Alec warned. The very idea of his mother in bed with his friend made him want to wretch.
Malcolm shrugged.
“Ye’re an animal,” Alec said. “And no’ a good one.”
His friends laughed, jostling each other, and Alec elbowed them each in the ribs. “I’ve got a mind to take ye outside and challenge ye.”
“Save your strength,” Malcolm said. “From what I understand, ye’ll have a fight soon enough.”
“What does that mean?” Alec examined the room, expecting to see Keith lurking in a corner.
Malcolm nodded toward the women and the way Giselle looked ready to eat one of them alive. She was clearly struggling with her temper. Much had changed in the few moments of ribbing among his comrades.
“’Haps, I should intervene,” Alec mused.
“I’m staying well away from that,” Euan shook his head. “I’ve enough troubles with all the females in my house. Besides, Maggie’s much better at regulating than I am.”
Poor Euan was the only son and had six sisters. When his parents passed away, he was barely more than fourteen years old and suddenly in charge of raising six females. How he’d survived to tell the tale, and still have a personality, was impressive.
“As is Jaime, having to deal with sailors and dockhands daily,” Lorne said. “I’d rather hang back than get in her way.”
Alec knew his friends were only trying to rescue him, but they failed to understand that he wanted to go over there and save her. Again. To free them both.
Well, perhaps they didn’t all think that. Malcolm was staring at him with astute eyes that never missed a beat. That was why he was so good at his position with the War Office. They’d all long suspected that there was more to Malcolm than met the eye.
“I’m certain she’d welcome the distraction,” Malcolm said. And if he said it, then it had to be true because the man made a living off of knowing what other people thought, sometimes before they even contemplated it.
Just as Euan promised, his sister invited several of the women over to a table to play cards, leaving Giselle to decline and Jaime to beg off to sit beside her friend.
Now was Alec’s chance. So what was holding him back? He wasn’t certain what it was, only that he felt unmoored. For so long, he’d clung to his desire to be alone. Vowed to swear off females after the pain of rejection grew to be too much. Or at least resigned himself never to have a life partner.
Watching Lorne fall in love the year prior had given him the first twitches of desire for his own partner. But that had quickly squashed when he recalled how society lasses like the ones here tonight made clear he was not the one they were looking for. From what he’d observed, those who were willing to look past a man’s less than desirable visage married the widowers who were bound to keel over soon, leaving them rich. Or they struck deals about furnishing an heir and a spare and moving into separate quarters. That was not what Alec wanted.
And just because Giselle hadn’t shied away from him didn’t mean she was willing to take him as a husband either.
* * *
Giselle w
atched Alec from across the room where he stood with several other large males. Funny how beasts seemed to congregate together.
“What are ye smiling about?” Jaime asked, sitting down on the chair beside where Giselle lounged on a settee. Her astute regard followed Giselle’s line of vision.
“I’m no’ smiling.” Giselle was quick to frown as she focused on the table in front of her, which only made her friend laugh.
“Ye’re a terrible liar,” Jaime said with a playful roll of her eyes and then poured them both a cup of tea from the service the footmen had laid on the table.
“I know. ’Tis one of the reasons I am so witty. It throws people off.” Giselle wiggled her brows and picked up her cup of tea, savoring the warmth.
“Good thing I know ye well.” Jaime stirred in a lump of sugar.
“Aye.” Giselle’s gaze slid back to Alec. He said something to his friends that made them all laugh, and he looked a little put out. She found his grumpiness endearing, and it made her smile, thinking of ways she could tease a grin from him.
“Ye like him,” Jaime drawled, adding another lump of sugar to her tea.
“I do no’ know what ye’re implying.” Giselle tasted her tea, if only to avoid saying another word that might give away the dreadful thought her friend had given her, which was that she did like him quite a bit.
Jaime leaned closer, a teasing smile curling her lip. “Ye find him dashing.”
Giselle pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “I’m no’ certain dashing is the word I’d use.”
“Then what would ye say?”
With a naughty smile, Giselle said, “Beastly.”
“But in a way that makes your heart race.” Jaime pressed her hand to her heart with a romantic sigh.
Giselle’s heart did thump up a notch in her chest when Alec winked at her from across the room at that precise moment. Dear God in heaven, how was it possible that so slight a movement of the eyelid could affect her? He wasn’t even near her. And yet, her heart was thudding practically as frantically as it had when she’d nearly fallen off the cliff. This man, who’d irritated a few years ago and irritated her again this afternoon, was somehow affecting her in all sorts of mad ways.
“I think ye make his heart race, too,” Jaime mused. “I’ve no’ seen him so...animated since I met him.”
“What is he normally like?”
“Much more reserved. And he hates these sorts of events.” Jaime observed Alec from across the room.
“They are rather boring, most of the time. And stop looking at him. I think he knows we’re talking about him.”
Jaime smiled into her teacup, then settled it on the saucer. “Aye, quite boring, unless there is someone ye fancy.” She stood up suddenly, her face a little pale. “I’ll be right back.”
Giselle pursed her lips, watching Jaime disappear from the parlor, and then glanced down into the lukewarm tea, wishing it were a glass of champagne, which the ladies at the card table had recently been served. She set it down on the table, thinking perhaps it was time she retired to her room. Dinner could be sent up. And after her earlier ordeal, a rest sounded mighty fine.
Alec’s strong hand came into her view then, holding a delicate flute of bubbly.
Giselle jerked her gaze upward, trying to keep the surprise from her face. “Why, thank ye. How did ye know?”
“Ye were wringing your hands so hard from across the room I thought ye’d break a finger. Ye needed something to distract ye.”
Giselle reached for the glass, her fingers brushing his and a spark of something quite delightful shooting up her arm.
“By distraction, did ye mean to get me drunk?”
Alec shrugged. “Do ye oft get drunk, lass?”
“What if I said I did?” She sipped at the effervescent drink and sighed.
“I would no’ believe ye.” There he went, winking at her again, causing her insides to melt. “But since ye seem the type to enjoy challenging me, I’d stick around for the entertainment.”
Giselle made use of her brows and frowned at him as fiercely as she could if only to remind herself that flirtation was not the reason she’d come to Slains. This castle was a refuge from an unwanted marriage. She hadn’t been invited to the house party, wasn’t an actual guest. She took a long sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling mercilessly down her throat.
Alec chuckled. Meanwhile, Jaime returned with her mouth practically falling to the floor in shock at seeing the two of them flirting.
“I’ll get ye another glass,” Alec mused, waving his hand at a footman.
Oh, no. Giselle had not set out to get drunk, merely to do as he’d said, which was challenge him. This was not going to end well for her. She caught Jaime’s wide-eyed expression and mouthed, “Sandwich.”
Jaime once more scurried away.
Giselle sipped casually at her first glass of champagne, realizing that all that was left was the dregs.
“How is your ankle?” Alec’s gaze tempered to one more of concern than when he’d been all about challenging her. He raked his regard over her form, down to her feet, leaving her feeling exposed mildly, even though she was fully clothed.
“The champagne is helping.”
He grinned. “Are ye certain ye’d no’ like to prop it up?”
“If I thought it would no’ make the society papers, then aye. But alas, facts are facts.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him a coy look. “Ye’d make a good governess.”
Alec chuckled. “I do believe that ye’re the only one who thinks so.”
Jaime returned with a small plate of sandwiches. Giselle passed her finished champagne flute to Alec, already feeling slightly light-headed, and held onto the plate, taking as delicate a bite of the sandwich as she could.
“I see ye aim to fill your belly to dilute the alcohol.” He gave her a deferential nod. “Well played.”
Giselle amazed herself by winking at him this time. Alec seemed stunned, but she rather liked surprising him.
He mumbled something under his breath and started to turn away, but not before his mother cut in.
“Do no’ leave on my account.” The countess glanced down at Giselle with a raised brow and clear disapproval on her face as she scanned with deliberate distaste the plate of sandwiches in Giselle’s lap. “I see your guest is quite comfortable.”
The way she said “your guest” sounded awfully as if Giselle had been invited to the house party for reasons that were rather indelicate. However, she was too shocked to be insulted and found for once today that she was speechless. Jaime stuffed a sandwich in her mouth and made an elaborate “mmm” noise. Giselle’s eyes bugged at the horror on the countess’s face.
“Verra delicious. Do have your cook send mine the recipe,” Jaime said after swallowing.
“I am quite, thank ye, my lady.” Giselle used her most sweet voice—the one she’d practiced to placate the vipers at Edinburgh’s Assembly Rooms whenever she’d had the unfortunate privilege of attending a dance there—in hope of averting the older woman’s ire from Jaime, who had attempted to distract her.
Lady Errol sniffed. “Well, perhaps ye ought to retire soon so that ye may rest. I’ll have a plate sent up with your dinner.”
Alec opened his mouth to respond, but Giselle felt rather tired anyway and did not want to give the countess any cause to contact her parents, so she nodded.
“Ye are quite right, my lady. I do find myself rather exhausted. Might a footman help me to my room so I may retire? I’m afraid I still can no’ stand on my own.”
The countess grumbled something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like “ye should not have come to the fete at all,” but before Giselle could think more on it, Alec said, “Nonsense. I’ll take ye myself.”
“My lord,” his mother said, with a laugh that suggested anything but humor. “That would be highly inappropriate.”
“’Tis my house, and I say what is appropriate and what is no’.” Alec’s tone was
calm, not loud, but its command brooked no argument. “I’ll take the lady to her room and return with haste. Never mind about that.”
Alec scooped Giselle into his arms as easily as he’d done the whole of the day, not tired in the least from carrying her around, and departed the drawing room.
“I see ye held onto your sandwiches,” he remarked.
“They are delicious. One should no’ waste a good sandwich.”
He chuckled. “I agree.”
Murmurs rose from the crowd gathered in the large parlor, but Giselle ignored them, her attention fully on the man who held her. Up the stairs they went, and down the hall toward the room she’d been assigned. With every step he took, the harder her heart pounded.
Once inside her chamber, he closed the door. And unlike when she’d been terrified with Sir Joshua, she felt safe and calm. Alec placed her on a chair and then went to the hearth, stoking the fire until it blazed.
“Will ye be warm enough?” he asked.
She was already very warm. Hot, even. “Aye. Thank ye.”
“Should I put ye in bed?”
Giselle’s mouth fell open, but she somehow managed to get control of herself. She smiled and shook her head. “If your mother saw that, I’m quite certain she’d have an attack of the heart.”
“True. So, shall I?” A mischievous smile crossed his face.
“I think a maid will suffice.”
“I’ll have one sent in.”
“Thank ye.”
Alec stood there, somewhat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite certain how to leave. And she didn’t want him to. But really, they needed to put some distance between them.
“Do ye need me to call someone?” she asked sweetly.
“What?”
“Ye seem stuck.”
“Och,” he grimaced, stepping toward the door with a scowl on his face.
“That’s more like it. The beast has returned,” she teased. “I feared for a moment a changeling had replaced ye.”
The Scot is Hers: The Scots of Honor Series Page 10
